


waging wars to shape the poet and the beat

by ElasticElla



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Dubcon Kissing, F/F, Manipulation, Mild Gore, Post-Episode: s01e12 Malec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6420910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes wander over them- ex, fledgling, coup-raising traitor, boring shadowhunter one, boring shadowhunter two- and she stops at the third, the one who punched her with a sharp smile. </p>
<p>“I'll talk to the Fairchild girl, alone.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	waging wars to shape the poet and the beat

**Author's Note:**

> title from kings of leon's use somebody 
> 
> ( [tumblr ^.^](http://parkwest.tumblr.com/))

Camille's anger has simmered down to a pure hatred, trapped in a too small coffin without any blood. She's already thought up and discarded a thousand different plans for revenge, but none of them are quite right. She wants to leave Raphael _devastated_ , wants him to consider walking into the sun of his own free will or trying in vain to starve himself. It's a pity he doesn't have any close friends or lovers, though perhaps by the time she's free that will have changed. Time has always played in her favor in the past. 

The chains are being undone sooner than she expects, neither her body nor mind have even gone into starvation mode. The lid is cracked open, dim light blinding her for a moment, and a bag of O-negative tossed in. Camille smiles drinking quickly and stepping out- O-negative was akin to bribery, someone needed something and she wasn't going back in that damnable box. 

“Camille,” Raphael says, missing nonchalant, his chest too puffed up. “you have some guests.” 

Her eyes wander over them- ex, fledgling, coup-raising traitor, boring shadowhunter one, boring shadowhunter two- and she stops at the third, the one who punched her with a sharp smile. 

“I'll talk to the Fairchild girl, alone.”

“No way!” The blond one blurts out, stepping in front of her protectively with his sword out. 

Camille rolls her eyes, “Fine. Go away then, I'm not in the mood to help.” 

“Camille, be reasonable,” Magnus starts and she cocks her head, listening. “let at least one of us stay as protection.” 

She walks up to him, and he doesn't blink or soften like he's supposed to. Her lips thin, annoyance trickling in: he doesn't love her any more, not like before. Some part of her knew it would happen eventually, it wasn't like she had ever reciprocated in kind, but the sudden lack of easy and fun persuasion is irritating. 

“Since when do shadowhunters need protection?” Camille asks, and the red head bristles. 

“I _don't_ ,” Clary hisses before anyone can stop her, and Camille smiles. 

“See? She'll be fine, now shoo.” 

It takes another few minutes of Clary insisting that really, it's _fine_ before they leave. There are a few weak threats that she ignores, but Camille is pleased with the way Raphael's been eyeing the fledgling. She could wait a few decades until they were even closer, until he thought she didn't care about his little coup anymore, and then she'd kill the fledgling, let Raphael choke on his ashes. 

Camille walks over to the elevator, and Clary hesitates before following. 

“Where are you going? I need-”

“ _I_ need some more blood,” Camille interrupts, licking her lips. “Before you look even more like dinner. Unless you wanted to open your neck and talk in this dismal basement?” 

“Er, no,” Clary says, following her into the elevator. 

Camille takes her time pressing the top floor button, amused by Clary's rising nerves. The girl's fingers tremble over her stele rather than her dagger which is interesting, and Camille listens for the others. Raphael has them all outside, discussing things Camille frankly doesn't care about. (After all this time, it's cute that Magnus still thinks the Clave can become equal somehow, that complete obliteration isn't the only viable solution.) 

“Your heartbeat's quickening,” Camille says, a floor away from the top, and Clary blushes, fists clenching. 

The elevator dings open, and Clary practically dashes out, getting space between them and keeping Camille in her sights. It's nice that the girl has a healthy sense of danger, though obviously an over-inflated view of her own strength. She really _shouldn't_ have let her land that punch. 

Raphael hasn't moved her stuff around, that at least is a small favor. Camille pours herself a large glass of AB-positive, sitting on the couch. 

“I need the Book of the White,” Clary says after she's taken a sip. 

Camille almost spits the blood out, a wet laugh crawling out of her throat. 

“And what do you have to barter? Better yet, I believe you already owe me a punch.” 

Clary crosses her arms, “I'm more than happy to punch you again.” 

“Cheeky,” Camille says, “sit.” 

For a moment she thinks she's pushed her too hard, has miscalculated, but then Clary's sitting beside her, legs crossed tight. 

“What do you want?” Clary asks.

“To start, you should kiss it better.” 

Clary blinks, disbelief and anger crossing her face. “You expect _me_ to kiss the vampire that resulted in my best friend dying- and then threatened to kill him again?” 

Camille leans into her space, scant inches between them. Clary's eyes have already focused on her lips, and it's almost too easy to just say, “Yes.” 

Clary's pulse is up again, her warm exhales hitting Camille, and she backs up, sipping her drink. Camille can see the decision being made, and she doesn't bother hiding a smirk. Mundanes, or those raised like them, were soft, easy to manipulate if you appealed to the right emotions. It'd be a slow process, transforming her anger to a more benign passion, but with such a lovely toy, Camille was sure she wouldn't mind. 

“And for the book?” Clary asks. 

“One transaction at a time darling,” Camille purrs, and Clary leans into her lap, lips hot and determined. 

(It's a much better first night free than she had anticipated. She will bring them all to their knees.)


End file.
